


Tricksome: An Ashlander Folktale about Cliff Racers

by Fa-Nuit-Hen (cliffracerx)



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Gen, TES lore, Velothi Exodus, ashlander folklore, fairytale, headcanons, obscure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 02:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cliffracerx/pseuds/Fa-Nuit-Hen
Summary: It is said that until their eradication, most varieties of racer were notoriously hostile toward men and mer–and this is perhaps due in part to the fact that they hear Clavicus Vile in the words of whoever hunts them and says, “give me” and “I want”–and so too do they owe some of their grit to Boethiah. Though they are considered flighty creatures in most popular folklore, those who know cliff racers best know that they’re excellent at holding a grudge and even gave the Chimer a run for their money.





	Tricksome: An Ashlander Folktale about Cliff Racers

Long ago, great winged rocks stood proudly against the hills of Vvardenfell. Each day, the whistling winds blustered past them and whispered, "Come and play."

The rocks offered the same sullen reply; their gravelly intonations echoing in the roots of the earth, sometimes disturbing its bones beneath them. "But we are mere rocks, and cannot move."

So it was that the winds caressed the rocks, shaping them and softening their chiseled edges into glimmering feathers. Thus were formed the first cliff racers. Born of the rocks and wind, the racers were strong and proud, yet graceful and lean. These new children of the breeze soon became scattered across all of Resdayn. Dependent on the whims of nature and knowing neither each other nor their enemies, they often fought--until the arrival of their kings.

The Cliff Racer Kings were wiser and grander than all other cliff racers. Where he flew, stones yielded to his presence, and the winds carried fresh news to them. Many things did the wind tell the kings, and they passed this knowledge on to the others. The seeds of peace strewn across the land soon bloomed into a flowery peace--until one day, an ill-wind blew, bringing with it Veloth and his ilk, marching 'neath the Thrice-crossed Serpent-Banners of Boethiah. With them, whether deliberately or inadvertently, these Changed Ones brought diseases for which such simple creatures as cliff racers had neither names nor cures.

The Dwemer, who came dwell in the bowels of the land before even the Chimer had, were long in the habit of hunting racers for their plumes, for then the Racers were armored head to toe in plumage, and even had legs with gilded feet to call their own.

When the first flock of Veloth's sheep came, seeking to carve from Resdayn’s dustworn crags a home of their own, their forward-scouting parties engaged much of the land’s natural inhabitants in a bloody slaughter, pilfering from their corpses what they held to be curious new items–and the plumes of the cliff racers quickly became the most coveted of these items.

The King of the Cliff Racers, the mightiest and most beautiful of his kind, could only look on in horror as Veloth’s people encroached ever more upon his lands, slaughtering his kin. He had tried before, to entreat with the Dwemer and their metal-clad magecrafters when they did this, but neither man nor mer could understand the erratic screechsong that all cliff racers spoke. As the situation grew increasingly desperate, the Cliff Racer King decided to turn to the Daedra for help. The winds whispered to him the name of Clavicus Vile, The-Prince-Of-All-Things-Haggled–and so too in their sweet tones did the whisper-winds warn him of Vile’s reputation for treachery.

The Cliff Racer King, though mighty, was simply a cliff racer, and thus knew little of the daedra. Anything, he supposed, was worth a shot if it could save his kind from destruction.

So it was that The Cliff Racer King ventured into The Fields of Regret, armed with the intent of speaking to Vile. After drifting through a nigh-endless stretch of alarmingly vibrant field dappled with curious patches of red mist, the King of the Cliff Racers finally found himself in a place that appeared to be the beginnings of a forest, with a small cottage that had a tree-stump throne sitting before it. At Vile’s side, there was a dog–what appeared at first to be a great shaggy creature. However, The Cliff Racer King had never seen such an odd hound in his life–it looked nothing like angular, shelled nix-hounds of Resdayn. However, as he did not wish to insult the Haggle-Prince within his own realm, The king set aside his misgivings.

He called out to the tricksome daedroth, who immediately plugged his ears.

“Spare me your screechings, creature,” replied Vile (in a voice that had to be the most horrifying and off-pitch sound that the Cliff Racer King had ever heard), “And cut to the chase! Why're you here?”

“I was hoping,” the Cliff Racer king began gingerly, “That you could help me and my kind defend ourselves from the gold-men who come into our lands, killing us and stealing our plumes. As you know, O wise Master of Bargains, our feeble talons are of little use against their swordmastery in battle. We didn’t have such difficulty in fending off the dragons, but I suspect their interest in claiming our lands was only lukewarm at best.”

Mortals–particularly men and mer–also happened to be far more persistent and inventive creatures than _dov_; for _dov_ had all the time in the world, and could afford to simply wait until the cliff racers no longer posed a threat. Drawing from all the memories of the Cliff Racer Kings before him, he knew that the Dragons had also been disgusted by the presence of Red Mountain. It seemed as if something within the mountain repelled the dragons and for that, creatures of Vvardenfell both great and small were glad.

Interested, Clavicus Vile leaned forward in his seat with a sneering expression. “Buttering me up first, hmm? Well! That’ll get you everywhere. I’m happy to say that you’ve come to the right place–but if you want me to help you, then you’ll have to give me…”

The king finished for him, “…Something that you want in return, right?”

Vile paused for a moment in thought before shifting in his seat. “Humm! You’re smarter than most mortals–and I admit, I didn’t anticipate that.”

“I thank you for your praise, but I am a simple cliff racer! There is not much I have to give…”

“On the contrary,” Vile replied. He was now looking at the king’s plumes with a nasty gleam in his eye. “You’re simply covered in gifts!”

The Cliff Racer King Drew back, but Vile persisted, perhaps sensing his alarm. “Why, if they were my people, I’d surely give the shirt of my back for them!”

Glancing between Vile and the hound (which had now taken the shape of a cliff racer without its feathers), the king conceded. “O, very well. But I give you my plumes to ensure that no other like me might have to suffer such a fate again…”

“Yes, yes, very noble of you,” interrupted Clavicus in a bored voice. He sighed heavily at the king, and his breath fast became the winds which carried The Cliff Racer King out of his realm.

The moment the king departed from Oblivion and emerged back onto Mundus, he found that he was featherless–and, to his horror, footless. Vile, it seemed, had taken a bit more than he’d bargained for. Enraged, he screamed Vile’s name to the winds, which brought back Vile’s response: “You said that you gave your plumes to ensure that no other like you would have to do the same. Well, there is only one King of the Cliff Racers, and since you’ve offended me, I think I’ll just take all your children’s plumes–and those of your children’s children–oh, and I’ll take their golden feet, too!”

With these seeds of treachery sown, no more did the cliff racers hear from Clavicus Vile, though they were made to endure the consequences of his wrath ever after–footless, featherless and wretched. One good thing had come of this, however–the racers’ beaks were sharper than any of the Chimer’s crafts, and the lack of feet and legs caused them to soar through the air more swiftly than ever before.

Unfortunately, this only served to exacerbate the struggle between the incoming Chimer and the cliff racers. Sure, the racers had gained a few advantages, but the number of casualties on their side was steadily climbing by the day as more and more Chimer flooded their lands–and at the head of these militant mer marched Boethiah, one the most fearsome of all the Daedric princes.

The Cliff Racer king was old and weary now–but instead of accept defeat, he decided that if he was going to be killed, then was best done with dignity, at the hands of a Daedra who was far more liable to accept an invitation to duel than Vile or any of his ilk. He was the king of his kind and still retained some pride in this.

The wind, whom men named Kynareth, warned the king not to go, as she had a grain of fondness for him, having him around by his wings and all those of his fore-bearers since they were naught but hatchlings. So too was she the mother of all the wild things of Nirn.

The king, however, did not listen to the mother-wind’s fond protests, though there was a fond grain of recognition in his eyes toward her protests.. He explained to her that he had nothing to gain by this meeting, he had nothing to lose, either. With a heavy heart, she heaved a sigh and wept, creating a storm that swept all things within it about violently–save the racer king, whose tired wings she carried gently to Boethiah, who stood at the side of the Chimer.

Boethiah had never seen such an odd creature before, though the forward parties had come scuttling back with reports about fearsome creatures lurking within heart of the land, presenting her with offerings of feathers they claimed had been plucked from fierce, razor-beaked birds. Each time, the Chimer seemed somewhat dismayed when Boethiah smiled upon learning about their struggles, commending these “strange birds” for their tenacity

She looked up at the creature, and the only plumage she could see remained in clusters. There was no way to explain where all these feathers had come from, or why her Chimer seemed to believed that they were so plentiful. Moreover, there had been no lie in the scouts’ eyes when they gave their reports. 

Boethiah furrowed her brow–and at that moment, a breeze whipped past her ear. It was Kyne, who begrudged her the woeful tale of this creature, who’d come here to sacrifice its life, with nothing left.

“I have a use for you,” she said suddenly.

She seized him by the tail before he could reply, snatching a leaf-bladed javelin from a neaby warrior. The pole of the javelin broke easily with her strength, freeing the spear’s bladed tip. Then, she attached the leaf-blade to the tip of the Cliff Racer King’s tail, binding it there with magic and thus creating one of the Chimer’s Greatest Challenges.

The Cliff Racer King was beyond words. By now, he knew well that daedra were capricious creatures, but he hadn’t expected _this._ As Boethiah held him in place, he hovered above her outstretched arm, rather like a falconer (and the king might’ve perched there for a few moments, too, if he still had legs!)

Much to the awe of the Chimer (who seemed thoroughly convinced that their goddess had tamed the creature), she let him go.

“Lord Boethiah, why have you done this thing?!” cried an alarmed scout.

“I was thinking of the future,” came Boethiah’s vague reply.

The Cliff Racer King soared gleefully back to his nest, and was overjoyed to see that what Boethiah had done to him had been done to all cliff racers–each of them had been endowed with the same razor sharp spear-tails.

As the years went on, both the Chimer and the cliff racers came to realize that this was not an act of mercy–rather, it seemed to the Chimer that Boethiah had done this to ensure that nobody became too soft after settling down. Then the wind brought to the elder racers the Word, and they understood.

* * *

Ages of the Tamriel passed. The cliff racers listened and learned, becoming adept survivalists, though growing ever uglier as they did. Each feather shed from the vestiges of once-glorious plumage marked countless hours of blood and toil spent in defense of their nests. Through their brothers on Vvardenfell, they grew stronger, and trough their sisters on the mainland, they grew in wisdom.

One day, though, the winds changed. No longer their mother, it howled curses in twisted tongues and wept blighted tears. It was a voice of pain and yearning. Whatever it sought lay beyond even the guesses and suppositions of even the wisest racer. It tore apart cities and woods, bringing with it the bleeding-men who crawled out of Red Mountain--and with them came diseases far worse than anything seen by man, mer, or racer.

Barred from passage by the cities of men and mer, the cliff racer's mother winds cannot find him, and far beneath his wings, the rocks no longer call his name, for they do not know it any longer.

**Author's Note:**

> -Yes, I'm fully aware that ESO lore seems to suggest that cliff racers are a subspecies(?) of cliff striders, although I have been known to ignore some of the shit ESO: Morrowind introduces and (imo) with good reason--especially because this contradicts previous lore given to us that the cliff racers specifically were the reason that dragons never settled on Vvardenfell. I also choose to ignore ESO's claims that Bantam Guar are related to scuttlers rather than guar.  
-This was written for fun rather than with focus on lore adherence.  
-My personal headcanons for the reason the dragons not making a home on Vvardenfell is that yes, being zerged by a bunch of angry screechy racers would've been a deterrent, but I think the presence of the heart of Lorkhan also irked the dragons.  
-And yes, for those of you who have played The Elder Scrolls Adventures: Redguard, my description of Barbas, Clavicus Vile, and his realm stem directly from there! :D


End file.
